On the Back of One Man
by Jusrecht
Summary: Konohagakure is a village built on the back of one man. Gen, Naruto.


**On the Back of One Man  
>Author: Jusrecht<strong>

**Warnings: **Angst. Some swearing. Vague-ness.

**Note:** My second attempt at a Naruto fic. I'm still feeling my way around, so please excuse any incongruity or… well, anything weird really orz**  
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–

Uzumaki Naruto woke up every morning with a smile on his face.

His day always began with a carton of milk and the delicious smell of toast warming his empty flat. A slow pace around the kitchen trickled life back into his sluggish limbs, and by the time butter melted against bread, he would have done his first set of exercises. Then he would eat his breakfast and a passer-by who chanced a glance to the third floor of the apartment building would have seen him standing behind the window with a toast in hand, the sun spinning gold in his hair. There, every morning, he would watch the village come to life—_his_village. (Every time he remembered this, Naruto's smile could have rivalled the sun.)

One year since the attack, Konoha was patching itself quickly. Crumbling ruins gave way to tall scaffoldings and skeletons of new houses. Gates were repaired and young trees were planted just outside the walls to replace their felled predecessors. The village had been dead once. Now it was bristling with voices and motions, laughter and troubles—and Naruto smiled.

"Hokage-sama."

The ANBU did not even bother to knock. Naruto sighed and stuffed the rest of the toast into his mouth. Even on his birthday, duty still called.

–

Sakura came with her present at nine o'clock. She appeared at his office and helped him speed through paperwork that everything due for the day was already done by ten.

"Sakura-chan," he murmured hoarsely, gratefully, hands aching and head pounding, "I love you."

Her only response was a grin—and when she beat him in a spar one hour later, she was wearing the same grin. They sat on grass warmed by the sun, trying to catch their breaths. His left side was throbbing from her merciless punch, but Naruto could not remember the last time he had felt so happy. It was a lovely Spring day.

Kakashi watched them from his perch on a tree, the book with the lurid orange cover opened on his lap. "You could have dodged it," he murmured, as if speaking to no one in particular. "You're getting slow, Shichidaime."

Naruto squinted up the tree and protested, "That's so unfair, Sensei! I had no time for practice!"

"Excuses, kid. A Hokage must always look underneath the underneath."

Naruto almost threw a kunai at his former teacher. "After spending the last seven months being locked inside my office with towers of paperwork–"

"Still," Sakura cheerfully interrupted his remonstrations, "this is the first time I've ever won against you and no, it definitely doesn't feel bad at all."

"Sakura-chan," he moaned, "not you too."

The sound of her laugh floated lightly and reached deep into his heart. Naruto found himself smiling at the sky above. It was a great day to be alive.

–

"Kakashi-sensei, can I ask for a present?"

"You can ask."

"It's my birthday."

"Yes, so you can ask."

"And you'll give me my present."

"You can ask."

"Fine. I want to see what's under your mask."

"That's cheating."

"So I can see it?"

"I don't have a face,"

"Liar."

"I really don't."

"It's the lousiest excuse I've ever heard."

"I'm serious. You don't want to see it."

"Yeah, yeah." Naruto grinned but did not push the matter. He knew better than to do so.

–

In many ways, Ichiraku was his beginning. There had been him, Iruka, the old man and Ayame-chan, and two bowls of ramen, near unchanging for six years and counting. It had become a part of him the way flying became a part of birds, something to make and define self.

Naruto had never told anyone, but one of his heartfelt ambitions was to eat there at least twice a week for the rest of his life—and then died happily in a suitably old age, preferably surrounded by bowls of ramen.

For now, he was content to devour his third bowl and listened to Iruka's soft-spoken chatter about the Academy's new curriculum. It was important, the older man had reminded him, for the Hokage to know about these things, because the children were the future of the village.

Naruto agreed wholeheartedly, and made sure to express it clearly despite his full mouth with vigorous nods and a few wild gesticulations. Iruka laughed and shook his head.

"You'll just never change, will you?"

"Hafonhu," Naruto said indignantly.

"It's definitely true if you keep talking with your mouth full like that. Which reminds me." Iruka took out something from the inside of his flak jacket and put it on the table. "This is only a small gift, but hopefully you'll like it."

Naruto's eyes widened. It was a wooden miniature of the village, meticulously carved and incredibly detailed. Inscribed on its smooth back was his name and title, followed by today's date—his birth date.

For a long time, he could only stare at it, dumbfounded; he had not expected any gift, not after what had happened, but there it was, sitting just next to his bowl, and in front of him Iruka was grinning brightly.

"You've become a great man and everyone in the village is proud of you. Happy birthday, Naruto." There was so much pride in Iruka's voice that it almost brought tears to Naruto's eyes. Had he still been twelve, he would have hugged the man and perhaps let himself believe—but he was not.

Now he only cleared his throat and smiled in return. "I know."

"Great _and_ bigheaded, it would seem."

Naruto laughed. "It's your fault too, Iruka-sensei. You did teach me to take pride in what I did."

"So I did," Iruka's voice was warm, his smile streaked with the same pride which lit up his entire face. A lump rose in Naruto's throat as the last of the laughter died; he turned away, shovelling the rest of his food into his mouth to prevent what suspiciously felt like a sob from slipping out of his throat.

This, sour and bitter, did not feel like happiness.

–

The miniature burned a hole in his vest pocket, just above his heart.

At least that was how it felt to him. Naruto frowned and tried to ignore it as he slowly made his way through the village. All around him were the ordinary noises of a recovering village—the sounds of hammers and nails, the jumbled echoes of many footsteps on the dusty road, the light buzz of conversation with its occasional spikes of laughter and warm greetings at him. Everything seemed normal on the surface, but the uneasiness persisted, like an itch just under his skin. To make things worse, every so often he would notice some incongruities from the corners of his eyes; little, unimportant things, which nevertheless made him grit his teeth and look away.

It was supposed to be his birthday, damn it.

"_Some call it guilt._"

"Shut up," he murmured under his breath, just as an ANBU landed smoothly next to him.

"Hokage-sama." A quiet voice came from behind the white-red mask. "There are guests waiting for you at the west gate."

Naruto's hands balled into fists. Of all things to happen today. He nodded tightly and left without asking more about these guests, leaping from one roof to another swiftly as if by running from the place he could escape the cackles echoing in his head.

Just beyond the west gate of the village was a small clearing and a path leading into the forest of Konoha. Naruto reached the clearing in no time and found three people surrounded by seven ANBUs. His heart sank when he recognised the shock of red hair and a pair of cool, opaque green eyes.

"Gaara."

"Naruto." The Kazekage carefully matched his greeting. Behind him, Temari and Kankuro politely nodded theirs but otherwise remained unmoving.

His uneasiness suddenly increased tenfold. Naruto cleared his throat and tried to smile. "It has been a while."

"Indeed." Gaara's voice remained detached, painstakingly so. "I'm glad to see that you're alright."

"I replied to your letter after the attack, didn't I?"

"You said there was no need to send reinforcement." The uncanny gaze slid past Naruto's shoulders and rested on the tightly shut gates, as if he could see through them. "The village seems to be recovering."

"We're getting on," Naruto replied lightly and even managed a crooked half-grin. Gaara did not smile in return; his expressionless eyes watched him instead, so intently that Naruto could feel what little pretence he managed to put on falling away faster than dust in wind's furious embrace. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Naruto could feel drops of sweat breaking on his back, under his shirt. The village behind him had grown silent, as if waiting too.

"Naruto–"

"Not now," the words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. "Not now, Gaara. Today is my birthday and Chouji said that he would throw a barbecue party for everyone tonight and everyone would be there and…" Naruto swallowed, suddenly aware of how petty he must have sounded—birthday and barbecue!—but still he could not bring himself to care. "Give me a little more time," he continued, voice breaking into a whisper. "Just until the end of the day. Please."

The Kazekage's expression did not change. Naruto held his gaze and stubbornly clung to hope. Gaara knew loneliness better than anyone, to what desperate measure one could be driven merely to avoid being alone. He _knew_—he must understand.

Gaara was the first to look away. A soft, near inaudible sigh escaped his lips. "See me in Sunagakure when you're done," he intoned, turning around as he did so. "And happy birthday, Naruto."

Naruto would have hollered a sincere 'thank you', would have smiled at their retreating backs.

He did not.

–

The barbecue began at eight—with a bang.

In the back lawn of Chouji's house, Naruto gaped as a burst of colours rent the night sky. It painted everything around him in flashes and muted lights, painfully brilliant for just one fleeting moment. Its disappearance left a sudden hollow emptiness in the pit of his stomach, but another quickly took its place, and another, and another, and another, until his name blazed across the sky in all its gigantic glory. A thunderous cheer echoed through the village and Naruto could only stare, open-mouthed, at the grinning faces all around him.

"So, do you like it?"

"Sai came up with the idea–"

"Happy birthday, Hokage-sama."

"It was _troublesome_, I have to say."

"This once is special. Don't expect the same treatment next year–"

"Happy birthday, Naruto-kun."

"SO HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?"

Naruto blinked and swallowed. How he could still drag a smile from the depth of his misery was beyond him—but he could, and the merriment safely proceeded.

He ate a few bites from the plates constantly shoved under his nose, but somewhere between Konohamaru's proclamation (how he would become Jounin soon and replace Naruto as the Hokage in no time, which provoked an ugly sort of grimace from Naruto before he could hide it behind a grin) and the roar of Ino triumphing over Shikamaru (at last!) before the shogi board, he managed to slip away. The house next to Chouji's was empty—he could not, for the life of him remembered who had been living there, but it would suit his purpose just fine.

Naruto made his way through the dusty inner rooms until he came to the darkened back porch. Inevitably his absence would be noticed, but hopefully not for some time. Alone in the blanket of shadows, he sat with his legs crossed and listened to the muted voices of celebration, the village miniature cradled on his right palm.

He knew this would have to end, soon.

An unpleasant laugh pierced the night and echoed in his mind. Naruto gripped the miniature tight, as if it was a charm.

The laughter receded.

"You don't seem to enjoy the party."

He started, almost breaking the miniature in his grasp. Sakura stood in the doorway, a bottle of sake in one hand, two cups in the other. Heart still hammering in his chest, Naruto nevertheless managed a small smile.

"I have a lot in my mind."

"If you prefer to be alone, I'll go." In the absence of light, he could not make out her expression clearly, but her voice was gentle enough—open enough.

Naruto grinned then. "Can't say no to that." He nodded at the sake bottle and watched in silence as she seated herself next to him. Even now, her proximity never failed to stir the childish awkwardness he had always felt since he had been twelve, pining after the smartest girl in class. He wondered if he still loved her—if he ever loved her.

A moot question now.

"It has been a year."

He did not answer. The sake spread sweetness and warmth in his mouth, and for a moment it was a refuge, a flimsy haven away from words and half-answers and what-could-have-been's. He could hear Kiba's voice rising above other nightly sounds, so brash and full of life. Sprinkles of laughter followed, light as a child's footsteps, and even in the dimness he could perceive her quiet smile.

"Yes," Naruto murmured, defeated.

"It's all thanks to you."

"Don't." He practically spat the word out; it lay dead between them, harsh and jarring and so true. Sakura was watching him, all traces of contentment gone from her face, and suddenly there was only silence around them, thick and absolute, as if a heavy mantle had been draped over them. Over the whole village.

There was no other sound but the quickness of his breathing.

"This is the end, isn't it?" she asked the question softly, soft enough to avoid sounding like an accusation even in the utter silence. He met her eyes, steady, almost unblinking.

"Yes."

"I see."

Her fingers felt warm on his wrist. Naruto watched her face and he wanted to weep—for years from now, decades even, she would remain the beautiful eighteen she always was, as long as he wanted her to be. But in fact… "You're not really here, are you?"

Something flickered in her eyes, something he could not read. "I am wherever you want me to be, Naruto," her answer was slow, measured. "You know that."

Of course he did. He had forced himself to be blind, but he did know. He had not pressed Kakashi to show his face because there would have been nothing underneath the mask. And Ino—she wasn't supposed to defeat Shikamaru at shogi even if the world stopped turning and the sky fell down. Likewise, Konohamaru would never, never be a Hokage and no amount of bold proclamation or sheer bravado would ever make him one.

He had been living a lie. Even today was a lie.

"This isn't my birthday, is it?"

Sakura's smile was sad. "Of course not. Your real birthday is in October."

"But this was the day I was reborn, is that it?"

She said nothing and Naruto resisted an urge to shout, to destroy the silence of the dead village. This day one year ago was the day he had saved Konoha, by killing the one person he had vowed to take back—and sacrificing everyone else in the process.

It was a deed worth of songs and stories passed down for generations, no matter from what angle he looked at it. No other Hokage could ever best his achievement.

Not that there would be any other Hokage, after him.

"I should have listened to you." A faint tremor crept into his voice, but Naruto could not bring himself to care. "You were always the smart one. But Sasuke—he wanted to destroy Konoha. He said he had to, and he would not stop until he flattened it to the ground. Until there was no one left to remind him of the village. How could anyone hate so much?"

"He made his choice," Sakura replied, and he could not help but think that her voice should not have sounded so flat, so empty of feelings. The Sakura he remembered was in love, and her love was such a crippling, devastating rage which swept everything in its path, including him.

Naruto breathed out slowly. "He did."

"And you made yours."

He stared numbly at a shadowed corner of the abandoned garden. "Yes. I had to protect everyone. I had to. It was either defeat or using the Ten-Tail's power." A sudden morbid impulse to laugh ambushed him and he yielded to it freely. "What do you call a hero who saved his village by murdering everyone in it?"

"It wasn't your fault."

"You told me not to use its power," Naruto continued, ignoring her well-intended remark. "I remember you screaming at me. But Sasuke—you saw him. You saw how he murdered Konohamaru and Iruka-sensei in cold blood. I couldn't think. And it was so easy to reach in. To feel its chakra in my veins and know that I could win." He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, recalling each moment with perfect clarity. "But I let it take over me. That was my mistake. And everybody paid for it."

Again, she said nothing. Her silence, lengthy and weighed down by so much of the unknown at the tail of his confession, felt like censure. He raised his eyes and found her eyes, eerily luminous in the dark, staring straight at him.

"You paid for it," he told her—squarely, plainly.

Sakura shook her head, sending beautiful, errant strands of pink hair dancing. "You don't owe me an explanation, Naruto."

"No." A mournful smile twisted his lips. "The ones I owe it to are already dead. All of them."

A soft hiss escaped her throat and she suddenly pulled him close, her arms winding around his shoulders. He blinked against the red fabric of her clothes, his eyes warm and heavy.

"I just don't want to be alone."

"I know." Her arms held him tightly and she was warm, here, beating with life. Naruto allowed himself a small, quiet sigh of contentment before pulling out a kunai from his pouch. His fingers shook terribly, but once they curled around the hilt, his aim was firm. He did not hesitate. He felt the sharp tip of the kunai sinking into her flesh. He felt her disappear, grey smokes blinding his eyes, choking his lungs.

He was alone.

For the first time in twelve months, Uzumaki Naruto cried.

–

A small hill stood behind the enormity of the Hokage monument. It had been different once, its soil smoothed down by grass and very little else.

It had been empty once.

Now the surface was riddled with headstones, rough-shaped and grey in the lingering wisps of night. Many bore a name, sometimes two, each stroke carved by bleeding fingers, but some sat bare-faced in accusing silence. Naruto braved them all as dawn ruptured the east. These were the people, shinobi and civilians both, who had died in the Juubi's rampage—and he could not even give them a name to wear in death, the final mark of their existence.

In the tangled labyrinth of his mind, the demon made a cackling noise.

"_Done playing with dolls, kid? Using my chakra for such a stupid farce._"

"Something like you will never understand."

"_Ah, an excuse. Nice to see you finally making one—openly, that is._"

"Fuck you."

"_Going for the kunai now? Slowly bleeding to death is a coward's death, but then again you're a coward._"

"Oh, no," Naruto raised his voice and it rang loudly in the emptiness. "I'm going to live. And I'm going to find a way to defeat you. And then _I'll_ defeat you, you fuckhead. Only then I will allow myself to die."

"_Or you can die trying,_" the voice said gleefully.

"Or I _will_ die trying," Naruto vowed.

None of the dead answered.

**_End_**

–

**Note:** Um, yeah. Naruto here is now the Juubi's vessel. If Kyuubi's chakra could produce hundreds of Kage Bunshin when Naruto was twelve, it's only fair to assume that Juubi's chakra could achieve far, _far_ more, isn't it?

Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Comment?**_  
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